The Burden of Birthrights
by Kilcarr
Summary: Birthright: A right to which a person is entitled by birth. Burden: That which is borne with difficulty and obligation. We all have them, it's what we do with them that defines us.
1. Chapter One : A Call to Arms

**DISCLAIMER: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Anything pertaining to the Blackwell family belongs to me.

**The Burden of Birthrights**

**Chapter One: A Call to Arms**

Maximus Blackwell loves his daughters, truly he does, all eight of them. He looked at the pictures lining the walls of his office and covering his messy desk. Eight adorable little girls waved cheerfully****back at him. Oh, and one boy: his nephew**** Edward. He looked closely at the most recent family photo on the wall then back to the pictures of the little girls near his desk.

"Merlin, how they've changed," he murmured wistfully.

His eldest, a pretty red-haired witch**** was twenty-five years old**** and his youngest, apparently in a fit of pique at the moment, was nearly fifteen. Maximus watched the picture, peering closely into their faces to see how each of his girls was doing.

"Ah…yes, of course. Glory is at the Manor today."

His penultimate child was looking suspiciously smug at the moment. He would have to investigate this more closely upon his homecoming.

He looked at his cluttered desk again and another picture caught his eye, his sister Mathilda was glaring crossly at him and holding up her watch. He smiled at her picture and got to work.

"I really should get home early tonight."

Today was his forty-eighth birthday**** and he knew that his little loves were planning a not-so-surprise birthday party for him. Maximus chuckled at their efforts.

_They should know better than to try and keep something festive from an ex-Auror and ex-official good-time Charlie._

His knee gave a twinge. He looked down at the joint with a sigh of disgust. It was permanently stiff, keeping him desk-bound. He didn't mind his job with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it was just that every once in awhile, he missed the intensity and thrill of being an Auror.

_Just as well._

He looked at his overflowing in-box.

_If I hadn't been injured, Merlin knows how many children I would have had by now._

Maximus chuckled to himself. He looked again into his family's faces and sobered slightly.

_Who would have raised them all? Who would have cared for my girls?_

His sister had certainly done her fair bit when they were younger. She hadn't been happy or even particularly graceful about it at the time. Mathilda had still been in school when his first child was born. He had been married at the time but, true to his nature, he had cocked that up and Mattie had been there to put the pieces back****together for him**** She had given nearly ten years of her life to his daughters**** before trying to make one for herself.

"Well, she has one now," he mused.

He smiled fondly at the thought of his sister.

"Gadding about for the Ministry."

He was dead proud of her. It only seemed right; she was so bright and passionate. Mathilda had been wasted all those years as a house witch. He looked again at his ever-overflowing in-tray.

"Hrmpff. Here I am waxing poetical. This does not lead to work productivity…"

He chuckled again and got back to work.

A few moments late a purple inter-departmental memo glided into his office and hovered right above his head so as not to be ignored. Maximus saw that it came from the Aurors' office. He reached for it with a shrug.

_Maybe from one of the girls. _

He read the name at the end.

_From Shacklebolt. Must be Sirius Black then. How many times do I have to tell him to stop going over budget._

He read it quickly, a fleeting look of surprise crossing his face****then****reached for a new piece of purple parchment and scratched out his response.

**Shacklebolt,**

**Today's no good. Tomorrow free.**

**MB**

He sent it off and returned to the stack of parchment in front of him.

_Ali Bashir is just going to have to understand about illegal imports this time._

He scratched out the orders to have Bashir fined rather heavily this time. He really disliked it when repeat and petty offences got all the way to his office.

Another memo zoomed into his office. It floated imperiously in front of his nose.

It was Shacklebolt again.

**No. **

**Today three pm.**

Maximus felt small fingers of dread and excitement tickle his insides. It had been a long time since he had received anything urgent from the Auror's Offices. Usually, anything originating from those offices was just a nag-by-note from one of his daughters. He couldn't help the anticipation that grew as he reached for another inter-departmental parchment piece.

**All right, Shacklebolt.**

**Better be good.**

**Three broomsticks. 4.15**

**MB**

Maximus arrived at the Hog's Head at one pm, sat down, ordered something for lunch that he knew to not be disgusting and a Butterbeer. He waited for Shacklebolt's arrival. He would see if code four-fifteen was still in use.

Kingsley Shacklebolt came through the door a few minutes later. They greeted each other like the old friends they were. Maximus had been Kingsley's mentor during the younger wizard's Auror training**** and their relationship had grown since then into one that went far beyond that of a teacher and student. They traded pleasantries and caught up on each other's lives until they were sure that anyone listening was bored to tears.

Max went to the bar and ordered two Butterbeers. The barkeep nodded at him, de-capsulated the Butterbeers and said something odd to Max.

"The Phoenix has risen****"

The barkeeper went back about his business. Max looked at the old wizard as though he was touched in the head.

He returned to the table.

"D'you know what that old nutter just said," he asked Shacklebolt with a laugh.

"The Phoenix has risen****" answered Kingsley amiably.

At that the small fingers of dread, that had been lying unnoticed in the pit of Maximus' stomach, grew into mighty tentacles. They gave his insides a horrible wrench, making Max feel as though he was about to lose his lunch.

His mind raced to the year 1981**** It ran to his girls, his first wife, the Manor, Godric's Hollow, then****to Azkaban and back. He closed his eyes and forced a smile to his face.

"Oh. Well. That's nice," he answered****as pleasantly as he could given the circumstances.

Shacklebolt looked at his old mentor with a deceptively pleasant expression.

"You know that that is not the answer****"

All thought of a birthday party and a quiet night at home fled Max's head.

When Maximus Blackwell arrived home that evening, he was in no mood for cakes and presents**** although he sat through his birthday supper with the cheery face and pleasant demeanour of a devoted dad. When the last rendition of "Happy Birthday" and "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" had been sung**** and the last vestiges of cake had been eaten, he excused himself from the table and made for his study. Maximus turned at the door and called out to his sister.

"Mathilda. When you have a moment****"

With that he disappeared into his sanctuary.

Mathilda said nothing. She continued the over-seeing the clearing of the birthday feast in her usual brisk manner, but her mind was racing. Something was clearly on her elder brother's mind.

_He had been very jovial tonight, too much so._

She surveyed the bustle about her with a small satisfied smile; her niece, Grace, ran a tight ship. Nearly everything was cleared and the washing up was well underway. She could hear a small argument from the kitchen that attested to that fact. Those not employed in the kitchen were taking down the birthday decorations or had simply disappeared.

The dull thumping of music from the basement let her know that one of her nieces was 'exercising'**** The furious shuffling of paper in the next room was indicated some frantic searching.

_Joy probably._

Mathilda sighed quietly.

_The girl had the memory of a lace-wing fly._

Her brother's tone and demeanour had her worried**** although she could not put a finger on the reason.

_I'll wait an hour or so then see what Max wants. _

She did not want to worry her more perceptive family members by rushing in there after him. She could feel Temperance and Fidelia watching her out of the corner of their eyes. Mathilda was also expecting an ambush from Prudence later.

_Grace would have noticed something was amiss as well._

They all would have noticed their father's forced manner during the meal. Mathilda prayed to Morgana that it had flown over the heads of the rest of the Blackwells.

She headed to the library for some peace**** only to find it occupied. So she went to the sitting room**** which she also found being used. Mathilda gritted her teeth in annoyance.

_This house is getting too small. Blast my brother and his never-ending progeny. They all have rooms. Why can't they all go there? It was so much easier when they were all children._

She continued this peevish train of thought as she searched for one quiet space on the ground floor of Blackwell Manor. She walked out into the conservatory, finally findingsome solitude. Mathilda recognised the whiny voice in her head and told it to "Sod Off"

She checked her timepiece and headed towards the kitchens. Upon her arrival she discovered that Grace had left, and her youngest nieces were in the midst of a huge argument.

Glory was purple in the face and shaking a tea towel at her sister Honour. The youngest Blackwell, who seemed to be every bit as angry, was still as the dead. The only other occupant of the room was pointedly ignoring the ruckus**** and continued with the dishwashing. True to her name, Serenity looked perfectly at peace with the universe**** as the clean dishware piled up on the draining board next to her.

Mathilda permitted herself on inward groan and eye roll. These two having a monumental go at each other was nothing new. It was in fact, quite old hat.

"You are so slow! You're doing it on purpose," Glory screeched, effectively bringing the domestic tableau to life.

"Am not," Honour answered with false pleasantness, "I'm just being thorough****"

Honour picked up another dish and began to dry it very carefully, inspecting every inch as she went.

"I already dried that one," Glory informed her sister.

"Apparently, you didn't do a very good job of it," Honour replied most helpfully.

"See," she pointed to the dish in question****"Water-spots would've formed. You know how Grace gets about spots on the good china****"

Honour looked pointedly at her sister****

"Ah. No. You wouldn't would you, as you don't really live here."

Glory paled a bit and then gave a mean little laugh.

"No_. I_ have much bigger worries than water**_-_**spots on china. Unlike some, _I_ wonder what _my _O.W.L. marks will be. They're terribly nerve wracking and difficult you know****"

Glory looked spitefully at her younger sister.

"Ah. No, but you wouldn't, would you? Seeing as you don't really go to school at all!**_"_**

Mathilda took in the argument.

_Touché, Glory._

Mathilda stepped into the kitchen in time to stop the wands coming out.

"That is enough**** out of the both of you," she roared.

Both girls jumped and turned to face their aunt. She looked at their faces. Honour looked mutinous; Glory looked worried for the briefest of seconds. Outrage flew easily onto her niece's expressive face in the very next instant; she now had herself an appropriate audience.

"Aunt Mathilda! I did not come to the Manor to perform menial jobs best left to the uneducated!"

"I said _enough_, Glory****" Mathilda warned.

"Honour, since you seem so enthralled with the art of dish-drying, you may finish all of the dishes. No wand or other things."

At Glory's smug smile, Honour turned her back to her aunt and got on with the business of dish-drying in earnest. Mathilda had no doubts that her youngest niece had been baiting her sister. She dismissed Serenity, ordered Glory to finish the washing up and walked out the door.

"I am _not_ a house elf!" yelled Glory at her aunt's retreating back.

_Spoiled little so-and-so_

Mathilda continued her snarling thoughts about excess children and their permissive parents while she walked away from the kitchen and down the back corridor. The sounds trailing after her were not encouraging. A loud bang, a big splash**** followed by a fit of laughter and a howl of outrage came bouncing down the old walls as she headed towards her brother's study.

She rolled her eyes in earnest this time.

"Ah well, I tried****" she said aloud to no one in particular.

Max was pacing behind his desk, trying to rid himself of the irritation he was feeling.

_Where the devil is she? _

It had been nearly an hour since he had requested his sister's company in his study. He fingered the envelopes he had found waiting for him on his desk. The messenger was presently waiting politely on the back of a chair for some sort of an answer. An answer that Max did not want to give.

_There were so many questions to be asked and answered tonight. Too many. Far too many. _

His eyes turned to the small pile of ash on the corner of his desk. He could answer for himself, certainly, but he feared what the other answers would be. He rubbed his stiff knee absently.

_And what good am I now anyways_?

He looked again at the offending objects in front of him. Seven envelopes lay on his desk**** and the panic that had been threatening him all day started to get the better of him.

He was saved from himself by a brisk knock on his door.

"Enter Mathilda****"

At those words, the door clicked open.

Mathilda walked into her brother's study, turned to close the door and stopped dead.

"Maximus?"

She eyed the feathery messenger warily.

"What is-"

He cut her off.

"His name is Fawkes. Don't you remember? Dumbledore's-"

Mathilda cut her brother off in turn.

"Yes. I know. I attended Hogwarts as well, Max. However, it doesn't explain what he's doing in your study****"

Mathilda felt a deep-seated fear bloom inside her for the first time in a long, long while**** as she stared at the magnificent bird.

"Mattie, luv."

She heard her brother speak in his softest voice.

_This cannot be anything good._

"This is for you****"

He handed her an envelope, which looked for all the world like an advertisement packet from Madam Malkin's, bearing her full name. She looked at the envelope, then to her brother's worried face, then at the Phoenix and finally at the other envelopes on his desk. Confused, she shook the envelope at her brother. He looked back at her kindly.

"The Phoenix has risen," he said softly.

The envelope peeled apart under her fingers to reveal a scrap of hand written parchment.

**One week from today.**

**Shrieking Shack.**

**AD.**

The parchment then burst into flames. Mathilda watched it harmlessly burn in her fingers and the ash drop to the floor. She walked unsteadily to the nearest seat, dropped into it**** and looked up at her brother wordlessly.

"He's back, Mattie".

Mathilda stifled the sob that shot up her throat.

"When?"

"End of the Triwizard. Amos Diggory's boy is dead and-"

"But I thought that that was just a rumour. That it was just a horrible accident. The Triwizard is notoriously dangerous and…"

She looked at her brother's handsome face. He looked much older than his forty-eight years at this moment.

"…And it's not fabrication is it? He's back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back****"

Another raspy sob escaped her throat.

Maximus looked on helplessly as his otherwise stoic sister began to cry. He picked up the remaining envelopes from his desk.

"Please Mattie****Please dear. There's more. We need to make some decisions tonight… Fawkes…"

He got up and awkwardly patted Mathilda on the back.

"There are other letters, Mattie****"

She had momentarily forgotten about those. Fear and anger taking a hold of her, she grabbed them from Max's hand. She shuffled the envelopes, quickly reading the name of each addressee. Her fear momentarily stalled by the fury burning inside her.

"He cannot be serious," she snapped.

She waved the packet in her hand at her brother.

"Are you really going to allow this, this…"

_There are no words for this._

She pointed to the name on one of the labels.

"Miss Grace Augusta Blackwell, it reads. Grace!" Mathilda said incredulously.

"Really. What does he think Grace can do for the Order? Is she going to _tidy _You-Know-Who into submission?"

She picked out another envelope.

"Miss Joy Elizabeth Blackwell," she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "The only thing that Joy does not misplace are tickets to Quidditch games!"

She threw the envelopes down on the desk.

"Serenity wouldn't notice anything was amiss until she was hit with an Unforgivable. They are children, Max. Dumbledore can't…"

She pointed to the top most envelope.

"Temperance is a widow. She is still grieving. Prudence is half wild as it is. She would get herself killed in the blink of an eye and Fidelia…"

Mathilda tripped over the last name. Fidelia was so capable, she was the best choice of them all but that did not mean that she wanted her favourite niece anywhere near the Order's business.

"Fidelia is… far too busy… and-"

She stopped her rant and looked suspiciously at her brother. He didn't look quite so tired and fatherly at the moment. In fact, he had that old glow about him.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Maximus? These _are_ your children after all****"

Max looked his sister in the eyes.

"I'll have your decision first, Mathilda. If it's all the same to you. What say you, sister?"

His eyes darted to the wand on the desk and back to his sister's outraged expression.

Mathilda felt the wind come out of her sails. She slumped down in her chair and into silence.

Max let a few minutes pass before he got up and went to the small bar. He poured himself a tumbler of Ogden's Best.

"Want one, Mattie?" he asked.

She nodded numbly from her chair and looked up into her brother's face.

"It is not a question of _me_ not going back, Max, but rather… can we risk the girls going? They are so young. They're not ready for this."

"D'you really believe that Mat?" he said as he handed her the smoking drink.

"I cannot think of a more prepared or willing group of witches personally," he said with a touch of obvious pride in his voice.

Mathilda made a face at that last comment.

"I could swear that you are almost excited about this," she commented nastily, "Things slow at the office these days Max?"

She took a hasty sip of her drink.

"I never agreed with you about that part of their up-bringing, Max. I never have and I never will. Family motto, crest and tradition be damned to the farthest corner of Hades!"

_'Toujours a l'avant' ...damn you._

The words came pouring out of her mouth unchecked, the old anger and resentment came bubbling to the surface. Fear, not for her, not for her brother**** but for the other nine occupants of the Manor, was starting to slowly paralyse her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the memories of the last war which were coming to her unbidden, out of a tightly locked vault in her heart.

Max watched his younger sister carefully but with barely masked annoyance. He waited for her to get control of herself.

"Temperance and Pru are both Aurors, Mat. Fidelia works for Magical Law Enforcement, in the Hitwizard Operations…"

He let his words sink in, searching her face for signs of comprehension.

Mathilda pulled her eyes open and stared at her brother in disbelief.

"Don't you think that they are more than capable in their fields?" he queried, "You know that they deal with difficult situations everyday-"

Mathilda slammed her hand down on the desk.

"That is the EFFIN' point Max!".

_Ahhh. This is where Honour picked up that word._

"Are you listening to me Maximus?" she asked her brother none too gently.

She eyed her brother's face for signs that he was indeed listening to her.

"Don't you think those three deal with enough madness and mayhem as it is? Temperance is still fully occupied trying to track down Black's whereabouts and, more importantly, she is still grieving, Maximus."

_No she isn't… she was out with that fella from the games department the other day…_

She saw Max twitch at those words, he had been the one to allow a relaxation of the guard around Azkaban that led to Black escaping. The resulting man-hunt had led to his son-in-law's accidental death.

The brother and sister regarded each other warily across the desk. Sirius Black was a sore point between them. Mattie had thought it a travesty of justice that Black had not been kissed the second he was apprehended. Max had never been entirely sure of his guilt. His intuition said that something was off, but, his doubts aside, he did not like his daughter chasing down a madman. If he wasn't mad before, the years in Azkaban would have certainly made him so.

He looked back at her coolly.

"They are, as you have said, my daughters. Mathilda, I was simply asking for your opinion."

"In other words, Maximus, you have already made up your mind. You were just hoping that I would be blindly supportive of your idiotic decision to place my nieces **_-_** most of whom I raised while you were gallivanting around the wizarding world having stupid adventures and pointless affairs **_-_** in additional danger to their already dangerous jobs**** just so you can satisfy your juvenile need for… excitement****"

She spat her words at her brother as if they were acidic venom.

Max sipped his drink with practiced nonchalance**** and continued to regard his sister coolly over the rim of his glass.

"You're a real bastard sometimes Max," she said as she abruptly got to her feet.

They stared at each other intently, the air around them snapping with latent power and electricity. But the truth was there, as much as she hated to admit it.

_The girls were adults and if You-Know-Who was back, then it was everyone's fight. Not just Dumbledore's. Order member she once was, Order member she would remain._

"The Phoenix has risen. Reborn from its ashes," Mathilda said in a angrily resigned voice.

She raised her glass to her brother and swallowed the content in one deep gulp. She let her eyes bore into his, letting him read all the thoughts that she would usually keep hidden.

He gave her a testy look.

"Fine. Have it your way Max. You always do," she said, not bothering to hide her bitterness, "Call them."

She moved to the bar to pour herself another drink.

Max looked at his sister's back.

"A Call to Arms," he completed the oath, his voice filled with relief.

Maximus reached inside his desk and retrieved a small wooden disk. There were eleven etchings upon its face. He whispered something and ran his fingers along four of the delicate engravings.

Brother and sister sat in total silence for nearly ten minutes. The tension between them mounting until the first knock was mercifully heard.

**Part two: _Decisions_**

Max and Mattie gave a startled jump. Their angry stalemate brought to heel by the insistent rapping at the study door.

"Dad? Dad, it's me, Temperance…"

"And Pru. Open up."

"Shove off Pru, you great brute."

Laughter rang out from behind the door.

"Wimp. Oi, Dad… we know that you and Mat are in there. Open up!"

Max shook his head in amusement.

"Pru has no sense of decorum," he said to his sister conversationally.

"Well, why would she? It's not like it was ever encouraged in her," Mathilda responded coolly.

There was another quick tattoo and some muted scuffling from the door.

"Ye'll wait your turn Prudence," Max called to his daughter.

He was doing a poor job of concealing his amusement at his maverick daughter's typically boisterous behaviour.

Another quick tattoo from the middle of the door was shortly followed by a very hard thump to the top.

"Prudence! Really. Ye'll wait your turn, ye can't hear anything through the door that I don't want ye to anyways****"

Mattie glared at her brother one more time before schooling her face into the very picture of unblemished calm. She moved her hand inside her robes to retrieve her wand and place it next to her chair.

Max ran his hand over his face, readying himself to make some of the hardest decisions of his life.

"Enter Temperance."

The door swung open. Predictably, Prudence had not gone away, but was behind her sister trying to see what was of such great importance. Usually everyone just tramped in together when there was family business to be discussed.

Temperance gave her younger sister a quick push and closed the door behind her. She turned to face the room, taking in the calm tableau. She didn't like the feel of the room. There was something very heavy hanging in the air.

_This is not just another disagreement between Dad and Aunt Mattie…_

"Have a seat, little love," her father said kindly**** as he motioned for her to take the squashy seat by the fire.

Temperance looked briefly at the phoenix perched in the corner, but she gave no outward signs that she found this at all unusual. She trained her eyes to her father's face, she trusted him completely. Temperance walked to her seat, giving her aunt a quick nod.

_Hmmm. Aunt Mattie has her game face on…_

Max looked at his eldest daughter's face. It held no questions or surprises. He could read this one like an open book. Hers was a red-headed version of his own.

_So little of her mother._

Max moved closer to his daughter and extended a hand to give her cheek a quick pat.

Temperance smiled up at her father. Deep fear and deep affection warred inside Max in that moment.

_Merlin help me, but she is my favourite child._

He knew that it was wrong to feel this way, but he gave up on trying to quash those feelings years ago. He loved his other girls and his nephew dearly, but none so much as his firstborn. He saw her wide hazel eyes try to read his and a small smirk, that looked so much like his smirk, touched her lips.

He closed his eyes.

_This is far more difficult than it seemed all of fifteen minutes ago._

Mathilda looked at the silent exchange between father and daughter grimly.

"Just bloody well get on with it, Max."

She gave a small and mean little laugh inside her head.

'_Lot harder to ask this of your Temperance, isn't it?_

Max took a deep, fortifying drink of his firewhiskey. He looked his daughter straight in the eyes.

"You-Know-Who is back. It's been confirmed****"

Temperance's mouth opened to object or maybe to argue with her father, but no sound came out. She whipped around to look at her aunt.

Mathilda nodded to her niece, silently backing up her brother's statement.

Temperance was old enough to remember what it had been like during that first reign of terror. She went pale with shock.

"It's been getting worse at work. Is this wh?..."

Her voice trailed off into a whisper. The answer did not matter. She remembered the first war well enough. She had been twelve when it had ended. Temperance knew that she was lucky to have been at Hogwart's for those last terrible years.

"Do you remember that your Aunt and I used to... eh… disappear once in a while back then?"

_No. Not too clearly. But if you say so._

Max handed his silent daughter a Madame Malkin's envelope.

"Eh? Dad, this might no be the moment for new robes****"

No one spoke for a moment, the only noise was the crackling of the fire and the odd sound from the feathery messenger who sat patiently in the corner. Mathilda could not take another moment of the silent inaction.

"The Phoenix has Risen," Mattie said with much more confidence than she felt.

Temperance's forehead crinkled up as the envelope peeled apart in her hand.

**Mrs. Temperance Joan McFarland nee Blackwell,**

**A Gryffindor you were once, a Gryffindor you shall always remain.**

**The time is upon us to sweep the cobwebs from our collective minds.**

**Evil has not gone away, it has returned and may be the strongest that we, as a Wizard Nation, have ever had to face.**

**Voldemort has been pulled from his Ashes.**

**The time has come,**

**Albus Dumbledore**

_What is this gibberish? Dumbledore writing me a warning letter that a five year old could have composed. ARGH! I know better than this…something is hidden here._

She focused on the letter and brought it close to the firelight. Four red words glowed through the backlit parchment.

Max and Mathilda watched as realisation dawned on her face.

"The Phoenix has Risen," her father said rather gravely.

"Sweep Away the Ashes," she answered haltingly.

"A Call to Arms," Max and Mathilda intoned in unison, finishing the charm.

They stared mutely at each other, going from one person to the next.

Temperance looked at the other letters on her father's desk. She saw all of her sisters' names. She felt a twitch of panic and looked more closely. Upon closer inspection she saw that only the adult sisters' names were there. Glory and Honour's names were missing, as was that of her cousin Edward. Five envelopes remained.

"Dad," Temperance began hesitantly, she felt out of her depth in this matter.

"I know that Dumbledore needs all available hands on deck, especially since I know that they Ministry will not see the Diggory boy's death in the same light…" she looked at her dad to see if she had guessed correctly.

"You-Know-Who attacked Potter, right?"

"You understand that the Order of the Phoenix is of utmost importance and secrecy," her father's voice was hard and flat.

Temperance looked at her dad with offence written all over her face.

_I'm not two! I can tell what cannot be discussed over drinks at the Leaky Cauldron._

"Yes Dad****" she said instead, but didn't bother trying to hide her impatience.

Max raised an eyebrow at his daughter.

"But if you have a choice in dispensing these summons, I wouldn't give them to Joy or Serenity****"

"But Grace you would?"

Mathilda wondered at her niece's logic. To the older witch, Grace was even less suitable to the task at hand than her giddy or dreamy younger siblings.

"Don't know if I would, but at least she's of age. Well, properly of age," Temperance's brow wrinkled up again, "It should be her choice Dad, Aunt Mattie".

Her father did not appear to be listening; he was calling Fidelia to him. Temperance looked at her aunt. She saw with some surprise that Mathilda's wand was out and resting on her knees. Her mind raced for a reason.

Mathilda answered her niece's probing look.

"To obliviate, dear. Should one of you decline to join the Order****"

She gave her niece a hard look.

"You understand, of course."

Temperance physically recoiled from her aunt.

_Merlin, but I hate it when she gets all icy and overly polite._

Temperance never doubted that Mathilda was the most mercenary and, in a way, lethal of the elder Blackwells. However, in light of tonight's news, that could not be a bad thing.

There was a crisp knock on the door.

"Father," called a low, even voice from the other side.

"Enter Fidelia."

The door opened and an elegantly dressed, ginger-haired witch walked in.

"You called****" Fidelia said calmly.

Temperance rolled her eyes. She knew that her sister knew that they were in here and she would bet her last Galleon that Fidelia was dying of curiosity on the other side of that composed face.

Mathilda's heart gave a squeeze.

_I don't want this. These are my girls too._

She watched silently as her brother told his second born child of You-Know-Who's return. Fidelia did not bat an eyelash at the horrifying news and quietly took her envelope.

Mathilda wondered if such control was healthy.

_Useful certainly, envious absolutely, but healthy...she highly doubted it._

Her niece caught her eye briefly. Mathilda nodded her head. She still marvelled at the implicit trust these two placed in their father. Neither witch was trusting by nature and yet, neither witch had questioned either their father not her.

Mathilda watched closely as Fidelia's envelope revealed its message. Ever the quick study, the ginger witch studied it briefly and answered her father.

"Sweep Away the Ashes****"

"A Call to Arms****" Temperance, Mathilda and Maximus said together.

Fidelia was actually far too shocked to say much. Her mind was a whirlwind of thought and feeling. To cover her unsettled state, she scanned the room; her eyes fell on the remaining envelopes on the desk.

She read the names and looked up, her mind finally was focused.

"Well. Prudence evidently. Grace. Maybe Serenity."

She made her assessment and went to sit next to her Aunt.

"Ren? You sure about that?" Temperance said loudly, "I mean, she is just so…"

"She is quite proficient, Temperance. Have you not visited the Gymnasium lately?"

One loud thump sounded through the door and cut the beginnings of a debate short.

Temperance smile widely.

"That'll be Pru."

Mathilda's lips thinned in displeasure.

Max shook his head in amused resignation.

"Enter Prudence."

The door swung open and admitted a tall black-haired witch.

Prudence was nearly as tall of as her father and they shared the same thick dark hair and bright hazel eyes. This last trait was not uncommon; all Blackwells had those same eyes, hazel in colour and vivid in nature.

"I'm being called onto the carpet, aren't I?" she looked each of her family members' in the face.

They did not respond.

"If it's illegal, I didn't do it," she said as she strode into the room, her voice betraying a suspiciously defensive note.

Mathilda felt a spurt of irritation well up.

_Why does everything have to be a production with her?_

"Really, Prudence…"

Max and Temperance laughed. Fidelia shot her younger sister a flat look.

"No, my dear, your activities…" Max stopped," What did you do?"

Mathilda noted with resigned irritation that her brother sounded more amused and interested than censorious.

Pru looked at her dad with a matter of fact expression on her angular face.

"Nothing particularly awful," she shrugged at him, "If this isn't a family tribunal…"

She looked about the room with the question clearly written on her face. She blinked and her face grew grim.

"It's serious then?"

She looked at her Dad for confirmation. Then she looked at her eldest sister, searching for additional confirmation. Pru's eyes scanned the room carefully. Her eyes stopped at each of the faces in the room and her jovial demeanour dropped.

Pru's entire body shifted from an easy posture to one that could only be described as ready for anything. She drew herself up to her full height and planted her feet shoulder width apart. Her arms flexed and released in rapid succession, the muscles in her arms jumping out in sharp curves and hollows in the firelight, as she tried to calm and ready herself for the situation at hand.

Mathilda always marvelled at and was always grudgingly impressed by this side of her niece. Prudence was as changeable and as reflexive as quicksilver. She never was as she seemed to be.

Maximus shifted towards his third daughter. He moved to her so that he could look her in the eye.

"Pru, love," he said, trying to gentle his wildest one.

Mathilda watched her brother work his magic with his daughter. She disagreed with nearly everything that he said or did, however, she was always struck dumb by the way he communicated with each of his children. His way with them was a kind of magic that could not be found in any textbooks.

Max took hold of his daughter's hand and began to speak to her closely and softly. Pru shook her head and turned to face the phoenix. She locked her eyes on it with a fierceness that she rarely let surface.

Fawkes chirruped at her and sang out a few high and sweet notes, as if he was talking directly to the doubting Thomas in the room.

Pru nodded her head and reached her hand out for her envelope.

Max was taken aback.

_How had she known about the envelopes?_

He handed Prudence her's and quietly said the first part of the charm.

The envelope pealed apart easily. She scanned it and looked up at her father. Her face held a look of uncommon gravity and unsettling dead calm.

"Sweep Away the Ashes."

"A Call to Arms," the other four responded.

"Call Grace, she'll come****" Pru said with certainty.

No one else agreed, but Maximus called his fourth daughter anyway.

A few minutes later, a soft knock whispered through the wooden door.

"Enter Grace."

A small witch with fine, wavy brown hair came into the room. Grace smiled at her family and waited patiently to be told what this gathering was all about.

This young witch always surprised Mathilda. Grace was as timid as a mouse when she was in mixed company, however, let the witch loose in her domain, Blackwell Manor, and she was became a mistress to be reckoned with.

Max walked to his diminutive daughter, wrapped his arms lightly about her small shoulders and bent his head so that he could talk to her closely.

Pru gave a loud snort of irritation.

_I wish someone would give Gracie a chance. She is much stronger than we think her to be. For fuck's sake, she's a Blackwell not some mealy-mouthed little miss._

Mathilda watched as Grace's sweet face contorted with… anger? Not fear. Real, red-blooded anger.

She took her envelope from her father, waited for it to reveal its message and then carefully read it several times.

Grace chewed her lower lip and looked around the room.

Finally she whispered, "Sweep Away the Ashes."

"A Call to Arms."

The Blackwells repeated the entire charm again. A magical contract was sealed that night. A new generation of witches were inducted into the Order.

Max wrote the six names onto a slip of parchment, sealed it with his wand and gave it to Fawkes.

The phoenix circled the room once, his voice sounding in their hearts and then he disappeared.

"One week," Max said as he went to open his door.

"Dad," Fidelia called to him, "what are we going to do about Honour?"

Max paused near his door and roughly put a hand against it.

_Honour. For fuck's sake. Where was his brain tonight? His little one. What was he going to do?_

"Don't you worry about Honour, Delli. She will be taken care of. We will just have to change things a bit, that's all. One week girls."

He opened the door and motioned for his girls to leave the room.

"Good night loves. Mathilda, we still have some business to discuss, if you don't mind."

Max had switched into his formal mode. Mathilda appreciated it. She did not know what they were going to do with the youngest Blackwell. Glory and Edward would return to school in September. Joy and Serenity would just go about their business. They would not be able to keep all the activities in the house a secret. It was just a question of how much they would reveal. Honour was another question. A question that needed immediate addressing and by the looks of her brother, he had a solution on hand.

The door closed behind the elder Blackwell girls. They looked at each other with expressions that were uncommonly grave.

"One week," Grace said with calm resolve.

Not another word was spoken between them for many hours. They scattered throughout the Manor, each seeking a quiet space to think about the change that their lives had just abruptly taken.

_**Phew! That was a LONG chapter. The longest I've had so far... Also the best (although, admittedly I've only had three).**_

_**Just pay special attention to g/s/p. For example, your most repetitive mistake so far was in dialogue: "Enter Prudence". - Wrong. "Enter Prudence." - Correct. **_

_**Also, and this is just my special thing, but try not to use the same word too often in the same sentence/paragraph, if it can be avoided. This is where a Thesaurus comes in handy. They're my favourite writing aid.**_

**_Other than that, your fic's really good! I can't wait 'till the next chapter._**


	2. Chapter Two : One Week

**DISCLAIMER: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**THE BURDEN OF BIRTHRIGHTS**

**CHAPTER TWO: ONE WEEK**

The night following her father's birthday party had been one of the longest in Grace's life. She had quickly left her sisters and made her way around Blackwell Manor performing her usual nightly checks before retreating to her room for some much needed quiet. She had only wished that the silence that she found in her room was also to be found in her mind. There were few things that Grace Blackwell could honestly state with certainty that she disliked, but several of those things had come crashing into her life with the force of a winter storm.

She hated surprises, she abhorred unresolved questions and she loathed sleeplessness. That night held court to all three of her greatest dislikes. She had been in a grumpy mood as she walked to her room that night and had high hopes that the morning would bring her better counsel or at least a better mood.

However, it proved far harder to get to sleep than she anticipated. She could not seem to stop herself from replaying the scene in her father's study. She was an Order member now, and although she appreciated this to be something of grave importance, she was still rather clueless to what it really meant in layman's terms.

Grace turned the pitiful amount of information that she had at hand around in her mind. It just did not all add up. She simply knew too little about the Order. She was still rather stunned that her father had even offered her the charmed envelop. Grace knew that while her father trusted her with many important responsibilities, they were usually tied to the running of the Blackwell estates.

She felt her eyelids droop. She concentrated on letting her body go boneless and tried to force it to relax. It worked to a certain degree. Grace did slip into sleep, but it was one that was restless and disturbed and filled with strange half-formed dreams.

Hours later, Grace awoke to something tickling her nose. She tried to blow whatever it was away. It returned as soon as she stopped. She could feel consciousness start to worm its way into her body.

"No, I don't want to get up…go away".

Grace 's voice fell off into soft grumblings and she twisted herself up in her blankets. She tried very hard to ignore the tickling feeling that was moving down her face to her neck. It moved towards her armpits. She gave a shriek of laughter and shot up in her bed. Her cousin, Edward, was sitting on her bed next to her, holding his wand above her and wearing a slightly disappointed expression.

She grinned sleepily at Edward and tried to rub the sandpapery feeling from under her eyelids.

"It's past nine Gracie"

The grin slid from her face.

"What!"

She leapt into a standing position on top of her bed. Edward quickly stood up.

"I didn't hear …oh no…there are things to be…and breakfast…"

Grace's ramblings were cut short by a tremendous bang from the next room. A door had just been slammed shut with great force. Edward and Grace both gave a surprised jump. She gave her cousin a questioning look. Edward shook his head at her; he didn't know what that was either.

"I will take an educated guess though, let's assume that that is round 40,632 of the bathroom wars," he said with a smirk.

Grace gave made a face.

_Why couldn't the younger Blackwells be as reasonable as Edward?_

She gave him a slightly grateful look and patted his shoulder. He chuckled. It was a good thing that she was standing on the bed otherwise she would have had to pat his elbow instead. Furious banging made its way through her bedroom walls. Music was turned all the way up.

Grace looked at Edward in resignation and reached for her dressing gown. He walked to the door and opened it.

Glory and Joy's voices shot through the open doorway. They didn't sound angry at each other, they sounded angry at whoever was now trying to drown them out with the music coming from the inside to the bathroom.

Edward looked at Grace with subtle amusement.

"I'll get one if you get the other".

She nodded and headed into the hallway. She pulled her wand from her dressing gown pocket and walked to the bathroom door. The witches took no notice of the arrival of their elder sister and their cousin. They continued to hammer the bathroom door with fists and the occasional foot.

Edward heard Grace count to ten under her breath. He was very glad that he did not have to share a bathroom with anyone other than his mum. These nearly daily arguments grew exponentially worse during the holidays when all the girls were in residence. They got utterly out of hand when Glory was visiting; his blond cousin seemed to have that effect on her sisters.

The only difference today was that there was a massive pile up outside the bathroom and that Glory was not on the other side of the door, hogging the bathroom, and that Honour was not out here joining in the ruckus.

It always seemed to Edward that Honour actually enjoyed these morning familial tiffs.

"I got mine out…you can use it Joy! You won't get in trouble for…oh!"

Honour had come tearing out of her room down the corridor. She caught sight of the two Blackwells standing, wands out, behind her two other sisters.

Grace held out her hand in Honour's direction. The curly headed youngest place her wand in her sister's outstretched palm.

"Thank you, Pet. You may have it back in two days."

Grace gave her little sister a look that brooked no nonsense. Honour gave Grace a grumpy look.

"I have told you repeatedly, Honour. No wands, no wand work in the house and certainly no wand work against your sisters or your house. Really!"

Honour's face slipped into a pout.

The incredible noise from the bathroom door had not abated one whit and Grace just snapped.

She whipped her wand out in front of her.

"THAT IS ENOUGH! WE ARE NOT SAVAGES IN THIS HOUSEHOLD!"

She sent a skin-pinching hex at both the girls at the door.

Joy and Glory jumped in the air and grabbed the places on their arms that had felt the sting of their elder sister's hex.

In Edward's opinion, Grace's statement was highly debatable. He really didn't enjoy these little altercations between family members the way some people around here did. Honour was looking entirely too interested in Grace's hex; she looked as though she was going to put in her unwarranted and totally unnecessary two knuts worth.

Edward reached out and caught his cousin by the arm and started to drag her off towards the stairs.

"Breakfast time, I think.".

"But I…"

"Yeah. Exactly".

"Oh Fine, but then you owe me a game of exploding snap".

Edward groaned. He hated that game.

Back in front of the bathroom door, Joy hopped around to face Grace. She looked ready to take her aggressor's head off until she saw just who the aggressor was.

"Gracie?"

Joy indulged herself with a hurt look but settled for just rubbing her hexed arms.

"Ren has been in there forever, Gracie, she is using all the hot water…and.."

"Oh for…Are you a witch Joy? An of-age witch that can use her magic any time that she feels like it?"

Grace stared her bubble-headed sister down. There was no reason for Joy's never-ending lack of logic. She reached in between the sisters and pointed her wand at the door.

"Alohomora!"

The door clicked open and Grace walked into the bathroom. The music turned off with a snap.

Joy and Glory looked at each other with a bit of satisfaction and a bit of irritation.

"You should have thought of that Joy," Glory told her elder sister snidely.

"Oh shut it Gore-y".

Grace returned from the bathroom, closed the door behind her and muttered something at the door while swishing her wand at the hinges. She turned around to face her sisters with a don't-even-start-with-me look on her face.

"Serenity will be out in a moment".

Glory opened her mouth to say something to Grace.

"Save it Glory. There was no reason for either of you to be carrying on like that."

Grace gave her younger siblings one more warning look and set the time charm to twenty minutes. She cinched her dressing gown tightly around her waist as if signaling to the younger Blackwells that the matter was now indeed closed.

"Stay any longer that twenty minutes in that bathroom…I have set the charm here to open the door and make the water run cold. And no, Joy. Your wand will not have any effect on the charm…so don't think of it".

She looked from one mutinous face to the other. Glory looked as though she had something else she would like to add. Grace was not, however, in the mood to hear a long list of the usual grievances about the nature of the sub-standard living arrangements at the Manor at present. She raised her finger to her sister in warning.

"If I hear one more disagreement," she looked pointedly at Glory," Or even one more miniscule complaint, Morgana help you, but I will not be responsible for my wand's actions".

Grace rarely glared overtly or menacingly at anyone, but when she did it was a thoroughly quelling experience.

Glory's mouth snapped shut peevishly under her elder sister's unblinking gaze.

"Joy. You're next. Glory…I mean it…just go have breakfast or something…No…Glory…last warning".

Grace watched her young sister stalk off down the corridor in a great huff. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

_Morgana, I pray that you give me patience with that one today. _

Joy giggled.

"Looks like princess gore-y has decided to start the day as her usual delightful mood. Ya think, Gracie?"

Joy looked, for some reason unknown to Grace, rather pleased with herself.

Grace was not amused. She shot her usually likeable sister "the look" and Joy's face quickly regained a somewhat penitent expression.

"We all know that Glory can be a touch …erm…difficult…" Grace began.

Joy's eyebrows shot straight up into her fringe, her expression one of open and utter incredulity. Her wide hazel eyes filling with suppressed feeling.

"Oh, all right," Grace's mouth tugged itself into a small smile, "she is a downright pain in the neck, among other things".

Joy's composure cracked and she began to laugh in earnest. Another rare occurrence, Grace never had anything even mildly off-colour to say about anyone.

"But…that is no reason to bait her. Really, Joy. Please. For the sake of all our collective sanities, promise me that you will NOT get the princess going. All right?"

Joy grinned back at her sister and nodded her assent.

"Thank you. Now, I'd best make a quick trip to the kitchen lest Gore-y…er…Glory not find anything suitable for her delicate sensibilities."

Joy burst out laughing.

_OH! Gracie is in a fine form today. Not nine-thirty and she is losing it. _

Grace smiled wryly and headed towards the stairs.

_Honestly, why does the Brat have to get everyone up in arms all the time? Why can't she visit and be pleasant company for a change?_

Grace was half-way down the stairs, her to-do list growing steadily in her mind when a loud clatter rattled its way up to her. She stilled, her ears trying to locate the origin of the noise.

A resounding crash and a bellow of frustration came barreling towards Grace.

_The kitchen. If that is Glory's doing…I warned her, so help me, I am going to give that girl the tongue lashing she so richly deserves._

Grace raced down the stairs and to the kitchen door. She skidded to a halt at the sight before her, the angry words she had readied died on her lips. Her hands flew to her mouth. She knew that she shouldn't laugh, but given the morning that she had already had, the sight of her aunt covered in what appeared to be crepe batter and surrounded by most of the pans was making her lips twitch uncontrollably. Grace knew that her urge to give in to the giggles that pressed against her lips was probably not the wisest thing to do. Mathilda was near a violent shade of violet. She fought the urge valiantly and settled for her mouth spasming instead.

Her aunt looked like she was in the midst of a fit of bad temper that only Mathilda could manage, it would be exhausting for anyone else.

Grace decided that she would giver her aunt a wide berth and allow her a moment or two to recover from her mild culinary accident before broaching the reason for the temper. It was never a good idea to try and talk to Mattie when she was like this. Somehow, what ever it was, it would end up the interrupter's fault for just speaking to her.

Grace looked around the kitchen and over to the roomy breakfast area.

Edward sat at the table nervously chewing on some toast. He glanced furtively at his raging mother with concern making his near perfect face look older than his sixteen years. Grace caught his eye and smiled reassuringly at him and wrinkled up her nose.

_It's all right, love. I know that it isn't pleasant but, this will blow over. It always does..._

However, Grace frowned inwardly.

_Edward was such a good boy, but so nervous...especially around his mother. It wasn't right._

The frown was followed by a sigh.

Honour had come traipsing in and plopped herself down on the table. The cereal that she was eating seemed to have made it's way down onto her dressing gown.

_Why was she always such a sloppy eater? It wasn't very hard. Open mouth, insert food, close mouth and chew. The front of her clothes did not always have to come into the equation._

Another smaller crash sounded behind Grace.

Mattie slammed something down really hard.

Grace could hear her aunt muttering furiously under her breath. Apparently the night had done nothing to improve her aunt's mood.

_Not going to deal with that just yet_

She turned her attention back to the breakfast area.

As if to distract her cousin from his angry mother, Honour was now happily swinging her legs back and forth and, in that process, lightly kicking Edward in the leg.

Edward was grinning at his toast and making some under the table grabs at her ankles

Grace rolled her eyes.

_Well, all's normal there _

Her eyes shifted to Glory, who sat at the breakfast bar, just about as far as she could from the rest of her family members. Her face and form a study of lady-like disdain.

Grace felt a stab of indignation rise at her younger sister's condescending manner. She quelled it almost as quickly as it began.

_At least she is being blessedly quiet about it_

Grace chuckled inwardly.

_For once..._

The doors to the breakfast area swung open with a loud swoosh and Pru sauntered in. Grace's mouth twisted about on itself when she noted that her elder sister was still wearing the same clothes as the night before. Grace would bet the Manor and all the Blackwell holdings that her sister would also smell of smoke and stale ale.

_Great way to be a role model Pru..._

She heard the muttering get louder behind her and took this to be her cue to inquire as to how she might help her aunt. It'd be better to deal with Mattie _before_ she got a look at Post-Pub Crawl Pru. She shot Pru a look of warning and cocked her head towards the kitchen.

Pru gave her a questioning look, peered over the breakfast bar and gave Grace a thumbs up sign.

"Hallo, Aunt Mattie!" Pru called to her aunt.

The rattling and muttering stopped abruptly.

Grace gave her elder sister a withering look and scuttled off into the kitchen to hopefully head off any further explosions of Auntly outrage.

Pru, from her vantage point of the doorway, took in the domestic scene in front of her.

She grinned widely.

She knew from the atmosphere that something was rotten in the state of Denmark. Although the reason for the stink was intriguing, she would rather create distractions for her perceptive sister than answer any questions that same sister might awkwardly ask about her activities of the night before. Pru had hoped to find that Manor's occupants well into their daily routines by now. It was nearly ten in the morning, but apparently she was not the only Blackwell to have had a late one last night.

Pru sniffed her arm.

_Goddess...but I do smell like the day after the night before. I'll just get a quick bite and head for a shower. Better make it fast by the sounds of things_

Pru was not in the mood for questions, recriminations or pointed looks this morning. She had a slight hang-over, she was late for work and last night's surprise events were sinking in slowly. Combined, these factors were not making her particularly sweet tempered. She had the distinct impression, and her impressions were rarely wrong, that her life had just changed irrevocably. She did not take to irrevocable changes as breezily as some people apparently did.

She looked at the three youngest Blackwells and felt a powerful protective urge envelop her. Honour and Edward were still playing their little kick-grab game and Glory was still nibbling at her breakfast with her usual nose-in-the-air attitude.

_They...have...no.idea. _

The enormity of that thought was sickening to the hardy witch. She quickly ran a strong hand through her tangly black hair giving it a yank. The concrete feeling of her scalp tingling brought her back to earth. Still, looking at them, she felt something swish about her insides in an uneasy manner. She wasn't entirely sure that it was a good idea to keep them in the dark about something as momentous as the return of You-know-who.

She took a deep breath, fixed her usual grin on her face and strode to the table.

"Mornin' Eddie. "

Pru announced herself loudly as she reached between her cousin and sister to the food that was laid out on the table before them. Honour's leg swung up. Just before it collided with her elder sister's body, Pru's hand shot down with lightening speed and caught hold of her little sister's calf.

Honour gave a small surprised jump. She had been playing at this with Eddie for the last ten minutes and he had yet to catch hold of her.

Pru winked at her little sister and released her leg. She pulled her hand up and gave Honour's rear a light smack.

"Come on, Pet, off the table. No one wants to eat food that's had your bottom near it".

Honour obligingly hopped down and scooted into a chair.

Pru saw Edward smile into his tea. She suspected that he had told the littlest Blackwell this exact same thing several times. Pru snatched up some toast and fruit and gave Edward a friendly nudge with her elbow causing him to take a much larger gulp of tea than he had intended. He gave her a wry chimpunk-like look.

She laughed and made her way to the window. As she passed Glory, she heard the young witch give a disdainful sniff. Pru marched back to her uppity sister and moved very close to her.

"Mornin' to you too, Brat," Pru said in an extremely good-natured voice, "Have a good night did you?"

Glory regarded at her elder sister with ill-concealed annoyance.

_How did I get so unlucky to be related...BY BLOOD...to these people...honestly...it isn't to be born_.

She gave her long blond hair a toss and looked the much taller witch boldly in the eyes. She gave a deliberate sniff in Pru's direction.

"Not as good as you," she sniffed again," obviously".

Glory shifted in her seat and turned her back to her sister.

Pru cackled loudly at the Brat.

"Always a pleasure, eh Glory?"

Pru ruffled her blond sister's hair roughly and gave the back of her head a small shove.

Glory squeaked in indignation, but did not press the issue any further. Pru really didn't care.

"Well...Good mornin' to you anyways, Brat".

Pru was about to dig into her breakfast when an angry voice came ricocheting into the breakfast area from the kitchen.

"I DON"T CARE, GRACE! HE IS BEING UTTERLY IRRESPONSIBLE. OF ALL THE DIM-WITTED, NEAR-SIGHTED DECISIONS TO MAKE, THIS ONE IS ONE OF THE MOST…MOST..."

Mathilda started to sputter, her anger so intense that she could no longer get her mouth to form the words that raced around her mind.

Everything came to a stand still on the other side of the breakfast bar. Any pretense of trying to ignore Mathilda was instantaneously dropped.

Pru gave the room a quick once over.

Glory looked disapproving. Pru almost laughed. Apparently the only temperamental outbursts that the blond witch condoned were her own.

_How bloody typical…_

The urge to laugh died as she looked at the other two young occupants of the breakfast table. Honour look dismayed and cowed. Edward, well, he looked even more uptight than usual. His large hands were clenched and his back was ramrod straight.

_Poor bloke. _

Pru knew that, more often than not, Edward got the worse of Mathilda's temper.

_He really only has himself to blame there. Why didn't he just walk out of the room like the rest of them di_d?

Pru really couldn't understand his perverse need to stay near Mattie when she was like this.

She could hear Grace's soft voice trying to placate their aunt, however, Mathilda would not be placated.

"GRACE, " Mathilda yelled emphatically as though she did not already have her niece's undivided attention.

"YOU know and I KNOW that his IDIOTIC solution…is NOT the best SOLUTION".

Mathilda took a deep breath.

Pru guessed that she was about to really have a misplaced go at Grace.

_Time for some diversionary tactics…_

Pru made her way into the kitchen with her best insolently jaunty walk. It was a sure fire way to divert Mat's fire onto her person. Pru grinned to herself. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that no one irritated her aunt more than she did.

She took a quick peek around the corner of the breakfast bar. What she saw nearly made her shout with laughter. As is, she started to shake with mirth. Grace was trying to placate the storming Mattie, while trying to catch hold of the frying pan that her aunt was swinging around as she talked. Grace only came to her Aunt's shoulder, but was quite valourously attempting to catch hold of the iron implement before her aunt did any damage to herself, to Grace or to the kitchen as a whole. Mathilda, however, didn't seem to realize that she was armed and dangerous, so she ignored her quietly exasperated niece.

"Fine morning, ain't it Mat?" Pru threw into the kitchen to herald her arrival into the one-sided discussion.

Pru took in the horrendous mess that had settled all around her aunt.

_OH HO! Grace must be loving this. Mat hasn't been in this fine a form in a long, long time. This kitchen is in shambles. Almost looks as if one of us dueled in here. Hmmm...It couldn't be me, Tempe's not here soo...right. Dad. Has to be._

She sauntered over to her aunt and gave her a once over.

"Technical problems this morning, Mattie?"

Pru queried as she pointed to the drying battery stuff that coated most of her aunt's robe front.

Grace's eyes widened and she shook her head vehemently at Pru in alarm.

_Oh NO! Not a good time Pru. Really not a good time and...Sweet Merlin! You smell. She is going to..._

Mathilda's face hardened.

"You stink of..."

Pru opened her mouth to offer an example of what she smelled of.

"No. Don't bother. Fine example you are, Prudence. I believe this is a work day for you and yet, here you are at ten in the morning, stinking up the kitchen bold as brass.."

Mathilda squinted malevolently at her niece.

Pru returned her aunt's look with a cheeky smile.

Mathilda wasn't done.

"And speaking of bold...Where is your boozy floozy of a sister? I have not seen hide nor hair of Temperance all morning. DO NOT tell me that she has come and gone. I have been up since five this morning".

Pru looked at her aunt with, to Mathilda's eyes, a maddeningly blank expression.

"Er...Dunno, Mattie. Not her keeper, you know," Pru said with practiced detachment.

_Mat. Trust me. You really don't want to know. Tempe is probably, at this very moment, going for round three or four with the bloke she met last night._

Pru poured herself a cup of coffee.

"What Tempe does with her time is her own business," Pru began, " I think that you had some other issue you were discussing with Grace. Tempe and me are not the real, er...issue at hand and I know how much you dislike straying from the real ISSUE at hand".

Grace shot her sister an exasperated look.

Mathilda look as though she were trying to decide which "issue at hand" was irking her more. Her nieces' highly improper behaviour or her idiot brother's stupid decision making skills.

"Temperance and I," Mathilda corrected her niece out of habit.

The one that was causing her the most worry at the moment won out, even though giving Pru a dressing down was sorely tempting in this instance.

"YOUR father," Mathilda said with forced calm," has made the hair brained decision to send Honour to Hogwarts for the next school term".

There, she had said it. Surely Pru would understand why this was such an ill conceived idea. Irritating as her niece was, the girl was extremely fond of her youngest sister.

Pru blinked and her face went blank.

_Honour...Hogwarts...okay, not what I expected. Well, she has to go somewhere. Can't have her round here, with no real supervision, getting into everyone's way._

Mathilda tapped her foot impatiently.

Grace chewed her lip.

_Please Pru, nothing inflammatory. Even you can see how worried she is._

Pru sipped her coffee.

_It was a bit of a gamble, but Honour has been making quite a bit of progress. She had quite a good grasp on her situation and nothing had gone seriously amok in months. However, her schooling had to be taken into account. Or the lack of it._

"Am I to believe that you have NOTHING to say about this matter, Prudence? I must say that I am surprised."

Mathilda stared up at her niece.

_The bloody girl always had volumes to say about everything and now that it's so important...she sips her effing COFFEE?!_

Mathilda made an furious little sound.

"Well, if we don't want her to be a total ignoramus...I suppose that Hogwarts is not the worst option, " Pru said slowly.

Mathilda's mouth snapped shut with a sharp click.

"It is on of the safer places and the staff and professors would know what to do if...er...anything should get a bit out of hand. I mean, Dad wouldn't just make a decision like this without…er…consulting anyone."

Pru looked at her aunt. She was not entirely sure that Mattie was wrong about Dad making this decision a snap one.

Grace felt impelled to chime in, even though she knew that it might not be the best moment to do so.

"Aunt Mathilda," she began beseechingly," Dumbledore _has_ been sending letters every summer since she turned eleven".

"That is NOT the EFFING POINT, GRACE, " Mathilda answered waspishly.

"DO NOT HAVE ANOTHER GO AT GRACE. I THINK THAT SHE HAS DONE HER DUTY BY YOUR FOUL TEMPER MORE THAN ENOUGH!" Pru roared at her aunt.

Enough was enough. Pru had little patience for her aunt's tendency to take out her anger on the family members that she deemed less likely to shout back

Grace flinched as Pru shot past her.

Mathilda was a tall woman, but Pru was even taller and not the least bit ashamed to use her imposing form to intimidate anyone, including her aunt.

Grace sighed and marched to the small place in between the two formidable witches. She placed a gentling hand on each of them.

_This was all she needed. Pru in a temper and Mathilda in high dungeon._

She felt a headache coming on. Grace gently pushed them apart. There was no real danger of either witch getting physical with each other, but there was no good reason for this kind of stand off either.

Mathilda shot her niece a look of icy disdain.

Pru pressed against Grace's small hand.

_Why do you always take her side? Even when she is being a real shit to you._

_I do not! This is just not a good moment. you know better,_

Mathilda took in the silent exchange.

The air in the kitchen reverberated with unspent anger.

The sheer frustration that she felt at the moment got the better of Mathilda.

_Why am I the only one who thinks this a really, really awful idea?_

Her foot kicked one of the pans still lying on the floor and it made a discordant clattering sound.

"Good Morrow, everyone".

A floaty voice sounded from the doorway.

The three witches turned to look at Serenity. The small, black haired witch was looking at them with her usual dreamily detached expression.

"Er...Morning, Ren?" Pru said as she stared in amazed wonder as her sister drifted into the kitchen, picked her way absent-mindedly around the clutter and proceeded to make herself some tea.

It was is nothing was at all out of the ordinary.

"There is some food out on the table, but if you want toast, you'd best make some more. It might be a bit stale by now." Grace said to the newly arrived Blackwell in a disconnected voice.

"Ta, Gracie," a chime-like voice said from near the kitchen window.

Mathilda just stared at her small niece. There had very nearly been a family brawl in the kitchen...it looked as though there had been a brawl in the kitchen...and Ren had apparently neither heard not noticed anything amiss.

Mathilda gave a snort of derision.

Pru shot her aunt a look a bewildered agreement.

_It was a certainly a good thing that Max had not given Serenity her Order summons. __That girl literally inhabited her own universe_ .

This was all the proof that Mattie needed to reinforce her opinion that her younger nieces were entirely unsuitable for any sort of Order activity. And that brought her back to the reason for her ill temper.

She looked at Pru and Grace.

"Hogwarts. HOGWARTS! " she shouted with the last vestiges of her rage," That idiot is sending Honour to HOGWARTS!"

Any further arguments between the senior Blackwells were cut short by an extremely loud squeal of excitement coming from the breakfast area.

It was followed by a horrified yelp of surprise.

"NO! SHE can't.."

There was a sound of a chair being knocked over and another squeal of completely happy hysteria.

"You heard that Eddie! I'm going to Hogwarts. I'm going to school. I wonder what house I will..."

" He would have to be completely deaf NOT to have heard her, you moron!"

Glory's howl of outrage drowned everything in the kitchen out. Even Ren turned at the horrible sound.

_OOPS!!!_

Pru looked at her aunt with a half apologetic smirk.

Mathilda groaned out loud.

In her ill timed temper, she had completely forgotten about the young ones on the other side of the breakfast bar.

_SHIT!...SHIT...SHIT...of everlasting SHIT!!!_

She threw her hands up in irritation, mostly with herself now, and swept out of the room. She was in no mood to contend with her excitable fourteen year old niece. It was better that she leave than rain all over Honour's happy parade.

_Not the girl's fault, after all_

Mathilda grumbled to herself as she climbed the stairs to change her robes.

_She couldn't help any of this mess anyways._

The sounds of Honour's sheer delight mingled with the sounds of, what she knew beyond without any doubt was Glory's very vocal dismay, followed her up the stairs.

And Mathilda just couldn't find the energy to care.

Let one of the people who were responsible for this morning's upheaval deal with it. Her patience with her family was completely spent for the day.

Grace looked at the scene unfolding before her, her head had ceased threatening to hurt and begun throbbing in earnest. It was going to take a very long time to sort this new mess out.

She sighed loudly and wearily and reached into her dressing gown for her wand. She would start with the kitchen, at least it wouldn't have any opinions, feelings or revelations for Grace to deal with.

The noise behind her got to be too much.

If this was what the start of the day held for her, she imagined that she could look forward to nothing better in the long hours that stretched before her until she could retire for the night.

_Oh that IS IT!_

Grace spun around and cast a spell that she had been dreaming of for years now.

"SILENCIO TOTALIS!"


	3. Chapter Three : Skivving Off Day

**DISCLAIMER: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Anything pertaining to the Blackwell family belongs to me.

**THE BURDEN OF BIRTHRIGHTS – The Binding**

**CHAPTER THREE: **

Kingsley Shacklebolt was by no means a clock-watcher by nature. This morning, however, it was proving to be excessively difficult for him to go more than ten minutes without checking the annoying instrument.

There were simply too many things that needed to be done and there did not appear to be enough time in which to do them. His mind ran over the long list of things that he had to attend to as the supervisory Auror on duty; the list was growing longer by the minute. His duties for the Ministry of Magic were not the only things on his mind at the moment. He had some rather pressing information that he had to make part to some of his Aurors, That is if the bloody Blackwells would deign show up.

He ran a hand across his hairless scalp.

_It was a good thing that he was already bald because the Blackwell girls' behaviour usually made him want to tear his hair out. How could they be so good at what they do and yet be so utterly irresponsible at the same time? _

He had caught up with Tonks as she came into the office earlier. She seemed to have recovered nicely from the news. He had wanted to tell her first anyways, seeing as it pertained to her family. She had just given him a rare serious look and retreated to her cubicle.

He could set his mind to some Ministry business once he had apprised the Blackwells, most specifically Temperance, of this information.

_Nine o'clock. Well, they should be arriving any minute now. _

He gave up the pretense of doing any real work and sat back in his chair. He trained his eyes on the corridor that led from his far cubicle to the lift doors. He knew that he was a bit indulgent with the two of them, more so than a supervisor should be.

He knew just about everything there was to know about Temperance and Prudence Blackwell. Their father, Maximus, had been his mentor during his training days. He had, in turn, mentored both of Max's daughters when they decided to follow in their father's footsteps. They had large shoes to fill in the department. Kingsley felt that they filled them rather well. Both were more than proficient Aurors. Actually, they were both damn good ones, although for very different reasons.

Temperance worked very hard to maintain a high performance rating. What she lacked in talent, she made up for in sheer determination. When given a dossier, she would lock onto it like a starving dog to a bone. He knew for a fact that it was here, within the confines of the Auror's offices, that people saw the best sides of Temperance. She was one of the department's most trust-worthy workhorses.

Pru, on the other hand, was born with all the necessary gifts. She had one of the sharpest minds he had ever encountered. It went far beyond being bright or merely intelligent; with Pru it was almost as though she had a sixth sense. Her extraordinary intellect coupled with her physical prowess made her the best Auror candidate of her year. Pru's fatal flaw seemed to be the fact that she did not share her sister's powerful sense of purpose. It was more as though she had just woken up one day and decided that she would become an Auror seeing as she had nothing better to do with the next three years of her life. The twenty-three year old had grown, over the last two years of service, into a witch and Auror to be reckoned with. If Prudence would just focus her energies, she could go very far in her career with the Ministry.

He looked at the clock again. It had the cheek to inform him that it was only ten past nine in the morning. He heard a clatter hailing from the general direction of the lifts. He lifted his eyes to see Dawlish make his entrance. Dawlish had some company. Williamson, his lapdog, was following him close on his heels. Kinglsey wished that he did not so utter dislike his fellow supervisor, but that was how it was. Kinglsey did not trust Dawlish or Williamson for matter. He could not stomach toadies.

The made the perfunctory gestures of greeting to the two wizards and made a great business of looking through the files on his desk. He heard Williamson comment to Dawlish about Pru's latest obliviator inducing escapade and gritted his teeth.

_She's twice the Auror you are. You're just still mad about her beating you soundly in front of the trainees. Serves you right for grandstanding in front of them without the skill to back the flash up. _

He heard Dawlish make a rather disparaging remark about the nature female Aurors in general. Kingsley would have loved to get up and smash his fist into his colleague's face, however, he was no longer at liberty to stick his neck out any further than he already was. Being discrete and eating crow were to be the new way of operating from now on. His fingers tightened painfully around the dossier in his hand; Dawlish made a remark about Temperance's last operation and how she had cried her eyes out afterwards. That decision had been hard for her to make and Kingsley had supported her use of force. Dawlish had no heart and he certainly did not know the witches that he was so misguidedly bad-mouthing.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, however, knew just about everything there was to know about the Blackwells as a whole and considered himself fortunate to have known this family for nearly fifteen years. He held Maximus and Mathilda Blackwell in the highest regards. His mentor had been his saving grace during his nearly misspent youth. Mathilda had been the steadying force that pushed him to always do better. She coached and coaxed him through so many of the academic tests and trials of his training days to ensure that he would pass them all with flying colours.

He smiled at the memory of the sleepless nights spent poring over numerous tomes in the Manor library. Mathilda checked his research and none too gently instructed him on the proper way to gather information. When he asked her, repeatedly, to leave him be, she always answered the same thing.

"Sleep is not on my agenda Kingsley, there are two babies, two toddlers and four other children in this house. Sleep is not a luxury that I can indulge myself with."

She would then smile tightly at him.

"I might as well do something useful while between feedings and nappy changes."

She would then get back to business. She was always all business.

At the time, he had been an impulsive eighteen-year-old wizard and had not taken to her domineering manner lightly. Mathilda had not cared whether he liked her or not, she had simply gone about setting a structure to his life that he had not asked for or wanted at the time. The witch, upon hearing his situation, had taken it upon herself to move him into the Manor and set about filling in all the holes in his education.

She had been an un-forgiving but highly effective taskmistress and he loved her all the more for it.

Maximus had played an entirely different role in Kingsley's life. He had handled the physical and technical side of his Auror's education. The pleasant head of the Blackwell tribe was just as hard to please as his sister was when he was in mentor mode. Although Maximus had been recovering from injury, the older wizard had still left the hale and hearty young wizard bruised, battered and be-jinxed.

It hadn't been until Kingsley neared his certification as a full-fledged Auror that he had finally come close to besting his mentor in a wizard's duel. He still wasn't as adept as the Blackwells in fully physical duels, the likes of which they all seemed to delight in.

He looked around him cautiously; he was alone now.

Kingsley Shacklebolt fingered an old picture that was stuck to the wall beside him. He remembered that night that the Potters had died, the night that You-Know-Who had been defeated and the night that Sirius Black had become the iconic criminal of the Wizarding World. It all seemed so surreal to him now. A baby besting the Dark Lord. An innocent man going mad and being incarcerated while two loving parents lay dead… two of the finest wizards that he had ever met. It was hard fact yet it seemed like the worst sort of delusion to him now.

He looked at the picture that his fingers had been absent-mindedly tracing.

It was taken on New Year's Day, New Year's of 1981 to be exact. It was one of his happier memories. In the old photo, a younger version of himself sat proudly, with Max and Mathilda Blackwell, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Emmeline Vance, James Potter and so many other dear friends, at the dinner table feeling very grown up. The children sat in the foreground. Lily Potter was sitting with them, her son Harry in her lap. A 12-year-old Temperance sat next to her holding her little sister Honour in her lap.

Temperance was trying to imitate Lily. She looked as though she were the young mother's little sister. Lily was far prettier than Temperance ever would become, but a strange sort of resemblance was still there. Lily's loveliness came from her spirit, the intelligence and unselfish love that shone out of her eyes. Her utter happiness in that moment lit up the entire frame.

Kinglsey remembered the rather mad crushes that he had on both Emmeline Vance and Lily Potter. They had made him awkwardly over talkative. Both witches had borne his eager company with good-natured patience and grace.

_Speaking of good-natured patience, his was wearing thin. Where the devil were Temperance and Pru? I can usually count on at least one of them to show up for work on time. _

Habitual lateness was...well...habitual for Temperance. Pru, on the other hand, usually sent an owl ahead to explain away her tardiness or absence. That they both be missing at once could only meant one thing. That they had both gone out on the piss last night and gotten drop dead drunk.

He suspected that he knew the reason for this as well. As a supervisor, he felt that he knew them entirely too well; his intimate knowledge of their histories was both a help and a hindrance to him at present.

He massaged has fingers against his temples. The soothing massage did nothing to quell the sheer irritation he felt at the moment.

_There are a million other things that I should be doing right now besides waiting for those two twits to show their hung-over faces. _

Their fondness for a party usually did not bother him. He was usually rather ready for one himself, although lately there had been less and less time available for that particular past time.

Kingsley pulled one of the files out of the near stacks on his desk. He opened it and tried to make some sense of the information it contained.

It simply did not matter. None of it was relevant at the moment. Sirius Black was not in Nepal, he was not in Ethiopia nor was he in the Amazon Basin. He was here, in England, and he was not a criminal.

Kingsley ran his hands over his face, picked up the file and walked to Temperance's desk and dropped it onto its deceptively tidy top.

_You deal with it. I don't have the tolerance for this right now._

He returned to his cubicle and pulled another file. He started to read but found that he couldn't concentrate on this one either. His mind kept making a beeline for memory land, starting with yesterday's meeting with his mentor.

He had rarely felt as uncomfortable as he had yesterday in the Hog's Head.

Maximus had not taken the news of the Order being reconvened or You-Know-Who's return with the gusto and energy that Kingsley had been expecting from the old warhorse. Max had, if anything, shrunken away from the news. Kingsley had expected to see that do-or-die gleam return to his friend's eyes. He had not expected Max to look as though he were about to lose his lunch.

Upon later reflection, and once he had gotten over his shock and disappointment, his teacher's reaction made some sense. This time the Blackwell name and tradition placed Max's children directly in the line of fire.

It had been a completely different story when it had been only Max and Mathilda facing down the foe.

He felt a spurt of sympathy for his old mentors. Both Maximus and Mathilda had lost quite a bit in that first war. Max lost his muggle wife, Joy's mother, to divorce. The French woman had not been willing to accept this hidden world that she could not belong to and its hidden dangers. She also had not been pleased to find that her husband was not as he seemed to be or that he had three other children of a magical nature. She hadn't ever found out about Grace.

Max had lost his first wife, also an Auror and Temperance's mother, to one of the first violent and open salvos of the war. Kingsley never had the pleasure of meeting Allison Blackwell, but he knew that she had been a much-decorated Auror and a highly respected witch. Her death in the autumn of 1975 had sent documented shock waves though the British wizarding community.

Kingsley privately felt that neither Max nor Tempe had ever fully recovered from her loss. Unlike most of Maximus' daughters, Tempe had, at age six, known her mother and the principles for which Allison had taken a stand.

His face tightened.

He knew it was a futile expense of emotion; however, he could not help the anger that burned in him when he thought of the witches that had born his mentor's other children. Unlike Allison Blackwell, there was very little to commend them.

Long ago he had taught himself not to judge the way other people chose to live their lives. Judgment clouded the brain's ability to see the facts clearly. There was nothing that he prized more highly than the ability to see things through eyes unfettered by emotional response.

Mathilda and Max had taught him that.

He shifted his eyes to the clock. It was now nearly eleven o'clock and far later than either of the Blackwells ever dared be.

_Surely the news of You-Know-Who had not sent them on a bender? No, benders were more his thing…how much did they remember? Tempe, at nearly twelve, would remember the horror of the first war well enough. Prudence had been only nine at the end, her memories would be hazy and incomplete at best. _

He looked back to the old picture and fingered it again.

_So long ago…fourteen years… _

He pulled it off the wall and examined the people caught within the black and white universe. It was a perfect moment caught in time.

Too much had changed since that happy day. He felt conflicting emotions rise to the surface of his stoic skin.

_Gone. The Potters gone, Black convicted and surely a bit insane by now… and so many others…Dorcas…the Longbottoms' minds totally gone…Marlene…all the people that he once knew…and all this was to start again. _

His dark eyes scanned the children in the picture.

His heart had stopped when Remus Lupin had given him his envelope and charged him with warning Maximus. Never had seven relatively small pieces of parchment seem to weigh as much. He knew that it was the names of the addressees that had made him nearly throw them away.

_Mathilda, Temperance, Fidelia, Pru, Gracie, Joy and Ren… _

They were very nearly the only semblance of family that he had, his had disowned him long ago. Max's had, in some ways, come to his rescue. His relationship to each Blackwell was very different in tone and flavour. Max and Mathilda were his mentors, his parental figures and his friends. He did not like to think of the life that he might have had without their influenceWith Tempe, being just seven years his junior, he shared a strong camaraderie; they related to each other as friends and colleagues with the greatest of ease, that is, when the blasted witch was not driving him up the wall as her supervisor. For the rest of the Blackwell children, save the prickly Fidelia, he held the status of a youngish uncle and he rather liked it like that.

_Ahh… Bugger it. Fidelia! _

Kingsley's mind sprinted up and out of memory land with incredible speed. He snatched up a piece of interdepartmental parchment and quickly scratched out the request for a lunchtime meeting with the witch. Had Fidelia been anything like her father or sisters, he could have just walked to her office and ask her to join him for a quick bite. However, unlike the other Blackwells, Fidelia was a real stickler of formalities. She was also, unfortunately for him, the best source of accurate information concerning that family of hers or anything else for that matter. Her job as an analyst for the Hitwizard Operations Head made her privy to far more sensitive facts, fiction and down right fantasies than Kingsley cared to think about.

He sent the memo on its way. He knew that he would be receiving a prompt response. He wasn't looking forward to their luncheon, should she choose to accept it, though. Talking to Fidelia was usually as pleasant as a wand misfiring into someplace sensitive.

Kingsley waited about twenty minutes for her response and, when receiving none, he resigned himself to tracking her down in person. Usually, she was predictably and almost irritatingly punctual. He guessed that all Blackwells were going to be a trial to him today.

He got up and walked down the corridor of cubicles. He passed Tempe's still empty desk, then Pru's. All sorts of unmentionable thoughts ran rampant through his head on the way to the lift.

_They had better have a very, very good explanation for their truancy today. _

The doors to the elevator opened and Kingsley found himself, at last, face to face with one of his errant Aurors. She did not look in the least bit ashamed to be showing herself for the first time at eleven-thirty on a workday.

He gritted his teeth at her irreverent expression. Any worry at her unexplained absence was instantaneously replaced by a tidal wave of aggravated annoyance.

She stood there before him, wearing the same clothes as the day before, bold as the brassy hair on her head. She even had the nerve to give him an annoyed look.

She stepped out of the elevator and crossed her arms. Temperance was not in the least bit pleased to see her supervisor, especially not when she was so late, especially not when he was giving her that bug-eyed look.

Her day had started pleasantly enough, but, from the looks of things, it was going to go rather quickly downhill. It was a real pity that the post-orgasmic glow didn't seem to be enough to keep the rest of her day at bay. In her opinion, there was no better cure for a hangover than some good sex. That dishy muggle man had not been a disappointment. The muggle had been more than happy to let her ride her headache into submission.

_Well all right then, you caught me being naughty…let the coal-raking begin. _

Kingsley gave her a royally fed up look.

"Blackwell, late again I see. That's five times in the last two weeks. Please do me the honour of meeting me in my office at one."

He followed his request with a very sharp look that told her that he wasn't in the mood for any of her excuses. So she didn't bother giving any.

Temperance felt her glow go the way of the Dodo.

"We have some rather important…business to discuss."

_Yeah…I'll bet. _

"And perhaps you will be able to enlighten me as to where your sister might be at present. I haven't heard a thing from her today."

_Fuuuccckkk! So that is why he is so tweaked off. Where in Circe's name is Pru? _

"By the way, there's been another Sirius Black sighting. I believe that the report has been waiting for you on your desk for quite some time."

Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a satisfied smile as he watched the red-headed Blackwell drop her bored demeanour and grow unmistakably interested in their conversation. She was very nearly twitching in anticipation. That predatory look, which he found so distasteful in person but so highly useful in an Auror, crawled into Temperance's now bright eyes.

"Really. Another one. Where?" she said as she fought to keep the raw enthusiasm out of her voice.

She could barely contain her hunger for new information. Shacklebolt was well aware that her desire to track down Black and return him to Azkaban had long ago stopped being her duty and turned into a personal vendetta of sorts.

His face remained impassive but inwardly he gave a shudder.

This was going to be a very hard thing to explain to her. Passion for vengeance like this is not likely to just dissipate.

Temperance's entire countenance had turned feral. A slightly mad look had crept quietly across the younger Auror's face turning her from a pretty witch into something else altogether.

Kingsley took a slightly apprehensive step to the side and backed into the elevator. He pointed to his watch warning her that he had not forgotten that he was to meet with her later and that she shouldn't conveniently forget this fact either.

Temperance watched the lift doors close. She spun on her heel and half ran down the corridor and into her cubicle. She had to admit that although thrilled that there was another lead to pursue, it was not quite enough for her to squash the feeling she had of being betrayed by Pru not covering for her this morning.

_Where is my Amazon of a sister anyways? _

That thought was not enough, however, to spur her to send an owl in search of her younger sister. She chose not to ponder Pru's absence; she had a labour of love to get to.

Tempe dropped into her chair and slowly opened the file titled 'Sirius Black Sightings 06/95'. She felt a delicious feeling shiver through her body.

In the back of her mind, Temperance realized that it was probably no entirely normal to get a nearly sexual thrill out of a 'sightings' report. She devoured the file's contents, her quill taking dictated notes as she went through it again and again, page by delectable page.

She had been dissecting the new information for nearly an hour when one of her colleagues rushed past her desk knocking over her waste paper basket.

She didn't even raise her eyes.

"Tonks! The bin please."

She heard footsteps thump back towards her.

"Oh, you're here. Tempe, disturbance in Vauxhall. Can't seem to find anyone else, would you mind …er… coming… with… me?"

Tonks' voice dropped off as Temperance raised her eyes to her co-worker. She had absolutely no desire what so ever to fly off to Vauxhall to deal with what was probably a rather benign situation.

Tonks shifted her weight from foot to foot and glanced leadingly at towards the hall door.

Temperance craned her neck around and scanned the room.

_Bugger me. 'Course there is no one else available. _

She got to her feet quickly and snapped up her jacket and wand. She nodded to Tonks and they headed towards the lifts.

As annoyed as she might be at the timing, it was an unwritten rule that Aurors should never go to the scene of a disturbance alone. This was one of the rare regulations that she agreed with whole-heartedly.

Had she been following this rule two years ago, her husband, Davy, might not be dead and she would not be stigmatizes as a rarity. The young witch widow was not common in such a long-lived society. The Tendo had been almost too glad to clad her in black at each Gathering. She didn't mind wearing the colour, it showed up rather frequently in her daily wardrobe. It was more that she really minded being told that she had no choice in the matter. Society tenets and all. But she didn't want to think about that right now, it was more of an on-going irritation in her life than a real problem.

They stopped in front of the lift. Temperance took a moment to judge their appearances and run the 'I am not a witch' checklist in her mind.

Black dragon-hide jacket and boots. Aww…it'll pass for some kind of treated leather. Dark trousers and a green t-shirt…that'll be good enough.

She ran her fingers through her wiry curls. Tempe suspected that they were in a semi-riotous mess. She had not taken much time to tame them earlier. She pulled a curl in front of her eyes and examined it while she waited.

_Nice enough colour, dark copper, if a person was feeling generous. Odd orangey-brown if a person was of a more mean-spirited mind. But since I am always feeling generous… bloody marvelous hair colour if I do say so myself! _

She grinned and released the curl. It sprung back to wherever it had come from on her head.

_Hair…_

She looked at her companion's head as they entered the elevator.

"Tonks, you might want to rethink you colour scheme," she said with a smile in her voice," The blue is gorgeous but I highly doubt that you'll blend in with the muggles with hair like that."

Tonks grinned at Temperance and screwed up her face.

"Right –o, Tempe. How's this?"

Tonks' hair turned into a cascading mass of brilliant canary yellow waves.

Tempe laughed.

"Closer."

Tonks' gift was a constant source of amusement among the younger Aurors.

The elevator doors slid open and they exited into the Atrium. Tonks adjusted her looks again. She coiffed herself with short blond hair and turned her eyes a very pedestrian shade of blue.

Kingsley Shacklebolt crossed the Atrium towards the lifts just in time to see his Aurors leave the building.

Now, that was either brilliantly timed on her part or the fates just have it in for me today.

He returned to his office armed with Fidelia's reticent divulgences. He had not made her privy to any of the information that he held, but had pumped her instead. She had grudgingly complied.

He settled at his desk to await Temperance's return and to try, in the mean time, to actually get something useful done. He was not ten minutes at his desk when he received an owl from Prudence. In it she explained her rather ridiculous situation. According to the missive, Grace had cast a spell that she was refusing to remove.

He started to shake with laughter.

_That must've been some morning for Gracie to hex them all. _

Pru was coming to work and had asked her boss if he wouldn't mind removing it for her, seeing as she couldn't vocalize the counter curse.

_What he wouldn't have given to be at the Manor this morning… _

He was still subject to the odd chuckle when he was owled by Tonks. The Vauxhall incident was requiring more time to sort out than previously expected and that Obliviators had to be called in.

_Wonderful. Just wonderful. _

Not only was he not going to be able to speak with Tempe, but he would also be subject to a mess of parchment work. Sometimes he really didn't much like being a supervisor.

The morning that had been so maddeningly slow turned into a hectic afternoon. While waiting for Pru to get her silent arse into the office, he received three more cases to investigate and two summonses.

"This is going to take all week to sort out," he said to himself as he sorted through the growing piles of parchment on his desk.

Trying to clear his desk was proving to be as easy as trying to prioritize chaos. He looked around peevishly. There was, of course, no one around that he could shove some of this work load onto. It was really miraculous that way this office could empty itself when there were dry cases to be taken on.

As if on cue, Pru strolled down the corridor to his cubicle.

"Nice of you to show yourself today, Pru."

She made a face at him and pointed to her mouth. He grinned toothily back at her. He knew, just by the way she was standing, that the enforced silence was driving her mad. Kingsley looked at the clock; it was two-thirty.

He knew, just looking at the state of his desk, that even by sharing his new workload with the talented witch, he would be out of the office for most of the week. He couldn't foresee, at the moment, when he would have time to talk to Temperance.

He looked up at her sister and a thought came to him. It was not the tactic that he had wanted to employ with Tempe but it was now the only really viable one that he had. By the looks of the topmost file on his desk, he would be spending the next few days in Egypt tracking down Ali Bashir and bringing him in for some questioning. An in voluntarily quiet Pru might just be a blessing in disguise.

He picked up his wand and placed an imperturbable charm around the cubicle.

Pru gave him a shrewd look and settled herself against his desk.

"I have something of an extremely sensitive nature to tell you Pru."

He looked at her sternly, gauging her response.

Pru crossed her arms and nodded to him to continue. All traces of her earlier discomfiture and impatience vanished. She looked him straight in the eye.

Kingsley felt a bit uneasy. Although he had known this witch for most of her life, her natural intensity still managed to occasionally unnerve him. He looked across the few yards separating them and searched for the words to best explain the situation.

He opted for the quick and simple approach. Beating around the bush would only aggravate the both of them.

"What I am about to tell you is not Ministry business Pru, it is Order business."

She nodded and leaned forward signaling that she was all ears.

"Sirius Black was an Order member during the first war, like you father and your aunt. But this you know."

She nodded slowly but her expression told him nothing and this was not a good sign with Pru Blackwell.

However, he had to continue.

"Black's position remains, to this day, that of a loyal Order member. He is innocent of the charges brought against him, although it would have done us a service if he had managed to do away with Pettigrew."

He stopped there and tried to read the witch.

She was not being very responsive. The only reaction to this information he could discern was the subtle tightening of the fabric of her shirt against her rawboned frame. He watched as the minute twitching of her muscles pressed and released the shiny purple material. Her expression remained completely non descript.

He was now finding the silence to be a hindrance and reached for his wand again.

"Finite Incantatem."

Still she said nothing. More disturbingly though, he could now hear the sound of her hoarse breathing.

_Sweet Merlin…She's furious. _

Shacklebolt was not entirely wrong. Pru was indeed furious, he was, however, completely wrong as to the direction her fury had taken.

They sat for a few minutes. There was no sound to be heard but rough breathing, the far away whoosh of the lift doors and the maddening tick of the office clock.

Pru released a long, deep breath, stood up and walked a few feet to the far wall.

"So…It was all in vain. Pointless really."

The calm in her voice brought Kingsley to his feet in alarm. He raised his wand at the ready. Pru's temper was not something to take lightly.

She made no movement and the clock continued to tick away deafeningly.

Prudence placed her hand gently on a place on her upper left arm. She massaged it slowly. Kingsley knew that under her shirt sleeve was a raised and scarred expanse of flesh; the physical souvenir of the day her brother-in-law Davy had been killed. Temperance and Pru had arrived too late to save him and she had been hit with a non-magical weapon. The liquid had burned through her skin. The healers had fixed her up, as they always did, but the witch always chose to keep her scars. She would not have them erased, vanity be damned.

"Pru," he said gently, "Black didn't have anything to do-"

"It was all for nothing! All those months…all the…"

Her voice was slowly climbing in decibel levels. Kingsley shot a quick look around them.

"Pru…quiet! Remember what we are-"

She didn't hear him. She let out a bellow of frustrated rage.

Right. Then it's back to quiet the enforced way. Imperturbable charms cannot cover that kind of sound.

The clock sounded the three o'clock chimes.

"Silencio Tota-"

She reacted with stunning speed. It seemed to him that in the space of a breath, Pru had ripped the clock off the wall and hurled it at his hand.

The clock smashed into Kingsley's hand with incredible force. His wand flew to the floor; the clock bounced off him and crashed to the floor, skidding to a halt under his desk.

Pru was back to breathing heavily, but his time her eyes made contact with his. Her clear, fine and fun-loving eyes were now clouded, slitted and ablaze.

"I know what I can or cannot say," she hissed at him.

He shook his hand and snapped back at her.

"Indulging ourselves, are we? Very responsible Pru, very responsible."

"What the fuck do you expect? You tell me that the dossier that Tempe and Davy…"

Her voice abruptly caught and she steadied herself. She shoved her shoulder against the wall, adopting a pose of incongruous nonchalance.

Kingsley watched her warily; he could see her brain hard at work, actively reconfiguring the pieces into a new picture.

Pru let out a sigh.

"Look. Sorry about the clock and your hand," she began.

He gave her a sardonic look.

_That was as close to a heart-felt apology as I am going to get. Bloody Blackwells. _

"It's not Black's innocence that got me going. I couldn't care less what his legal status is."

She raised a hand to stop anything that he might have to say.

"It's more the situation."

Her hands tangled in her hair and he saw her tug a few times at it.

"He did not kill Pettigrew or those muggles. Fine. Then how is it that we are only finding out about his innocence now?"

Pru gave him a hard look.

_Ah yes, ever the skeptic, aren't you Prudence… _

"Tempe is not going to take this as easily as I have," she warned.

Kingsley gave a laugh of surprise.

"You shouldn't be laughing, Tempe is going to go on a rampage the likes of which only she seems to hold the secret."

_And get away with it, I might add. _

Kingsley let out a groan.

Pru might do some violence to a highly irritating clock, Temperance…well…she might do some violence to some ministry officials.

"Kingsley, you know what the implications according to Tempe might be. I mean, we both know that she is likely to jump to some conclusions here that will be rather messy to clean up."

Pru made a face. She didn't relish being around when Tempe found out.

A really, really unpleasant thought dawned on her. She shot a look at Kingsley's desk, scanned his in-tray and slowly brought her eyes to meet his.

He was beaming at her. A beam full of prior knowledge and anticipated reactions.

"Oh no. No, no, no. I am not telling her, you can forget that idea right now."

"Fine Pru, I order you to do it."

She gave him an outraged look.

"And I order you to take this folder and do something about its contents."

Pru grabbed the dossier from her supervisor's out stretched hand. She stalked off to her desk to read her new case. She kicked her chair out from under the desk loudly, but before she sat down she opened the file and scanned its contents.

This has to be the most tedious drivel…Damn you, Kingsley…Don't blame you, just damn you.

She gave a quick smirk.

_I would have passed this one along as well. It's gonna take for bloody ever. _

A memo swooped past her head on its way to her boss' cubicle.

"Pru," he called to her, "Drop that case for a moment. It would seem that there are some trainees down in the gymnasium lacking an instructor. Care to work off some of that healthy rage of yours?"

She pivoted around, rather elegantly to Kingsley's eyes, and raised her hand to him. She made a rude gesture and loped off towards the lifts.

Pru gave a resounding snort of laughter.

_Healthy rage…my arse!_

Kingsley paused and went to retrieve the trainers' roster.

_So, let's see, who didn't show? _

He flipped to today's date.

_Max? That's not like him. He lives to put trainees through his grueling paces. Sick_ _bastard…_

"What is today? National Blackwell skivving off day?"


End file.
